


veni, vidi, vixit

by uai



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Empire Era, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 04:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20558315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uai/pseuds/uai
Summary: The Empire is all Connor has ever known - until Markus.





	veni, vidi, vixit

**Author's Note:**

> For the hc_bingo prompt "family", thanks to Kian from the RK1K discord for helping build the idea.

The Imperial Security Bureau prides itself in its success rate. 

Anything less than perfection is a sure way to be prosecuted, which often leads to less savory measures. Connor has no reason for such worries: he always fulfills his missions.

Accomplishment is a given as soon as a case is assigned. A small group of rebels is barely something he can consider a challenge. Jericho, as their ship is called, shouldn't even be in the ISB's radar, but they have been evading regular officers long enough to annoy the higher ranks.

It takes Connor eight standard hours to find them and one day to reach them. They're not subtle, have never been - resources aren't easy to come across when you aren't affiliated with the Empire. It's a small moon near the Outer Rim, a place that looks and sounds discreet, and it would be if it wasn't crawling with Imperial ears.

"Agent," a short, burly officer greets him as he leaves his ship. The man looks tense, as if he fears confrontation with the kind of foe that earned ISB attention.

Connor can't say he understands. He doesn't know the circumstances of his birth and they don't matter, they didn't shape the person he is now. What does matter is that everything he has learned, from crawling to interrogations to his perfect aim, has led him to his current fearlessness. He owes everything he is to the Empire.

"Where are they?" He asks, knowing better than to bother with pleasantries. The officer gets inside a speeder and Connor joins him.

"The rebels stayed at a local hotel, its entrance is through the main cantina. The local police is collaborating, they've sent one of their finest to keep an eye on them."

The Empire helps in training the police of affiliated systems, but it's nothing like being directly a part of the Empire. Such contributions aren't new to Connor and he knows what to expect from them, which is why when they arrive at the cantina and the aforementioned 'finest policeman' is drinking, he isn't impressed or surprised. The officer leaves before he gets dragged into it, cowardly so, and Connor knows this will be in his report to Amanda.

Approaching the man, Lieutenant Anderson as his uniform says, he can smell the alcohol and see that he doesn't seem particularly interested in anything but the band. If this is how the people involved in arresting the Jericho crew have been acting, it's no wonder they haven't been caught.

"Hello," he greets anyway, unsurprised when the other doesn't look at him. "My name is Connor. I'm the Agent sent by ISB."

"ISB, huh?" That, at least, gets him a reaction from Anderson, who sighs heavily as if Connor is the one getting in his way and not the other way around. "Didn't know four rebels deserved that kind of attention."

Anderson, he'd been assured, had already heard that Connor was coming, so of course these words are meant to rattle him. He hates that they do. "They don't deserve it, Lieutenant, but they require it."

"Same thing," the Lieutenant brushes him off, not looking any more closer to getting up than he did before Connor spoke to him. "When it's murderers I get it, but these are just folks who pay for their food. I don't like rebels as much as the next guy, but does that sound like a case for the ISB to you?"

"Treason is a far worse crime than murder." A political crime, rather than a crime against life. Connor doesn't care if they pay for food or if they do work for charity - treason is the work of people who want to bring the Empire down and, with it, all the work towards the fragile peace they have built.

Anderson gives him an odd look. It doesn't bother him. "Yeah... sure." Strange as the behavior is, it slips from his mind when the human stands, drops some credits beside his finished drink and leads him through a side door, taking both of them into the hotel. The Bothan receptionist ignores them as they take the stairs up to room 2 and Connor doesn't pay him attention either: they're on the lookout for humans, other species go completely unnoticed by Connor.

The door is as filthy and brittle as the rest of the place and, with a glance toward the other to warn him of his intent, Connor knocks it down.

He expects the blaster shot coming in his direction and steps to the left as soon as he's inside, but Anderson curses, arm burning. That should tell him what to expect but Connor wouldn't be himself if he didn't ignore the odds. A woman charges at him, fierce and agile, and he can see the remnants of Imperial training in the way she moves. North, the deserter, he remembers from her files.

The upper hand is his, from knowing more about her own style of fight than she does, and though he can hear that the Lieutenant is struggling with the blonde haired man as another tells him _Simon, that's not self defense_, he's almost optimistic.

The fourth member is missing, though, so he can't be. He's right in that, he finds after knocking out North with a swift knee to her stomach. Without any reason or thought, as soon as Connor turns around to offer his help, he flies to the other side of the room, grunting as his back hits the wall. The woman must have been awake, he thinks, but his dazed eyes tell a different story.

He can't make out much of what's going on as he pretends to be in a worse state than he is, but he sees Anderson, clutching one of his legs on the floor, the fourth crew member with North’s arm around his neck and the other two standing with him. He can tell that the fourth is their leader from the way the others seek him out, looking for assistance, orders. As someone who has done his fair share of being ordered and giving out orders, he recognizes their postures.

"-didn't have it, but maybe it was a trap," he hears the fourth say. He blinks his eyes in an attempt to fight the dizziness, but it doesn't help. "We have to leave."

That isn't part of the plan, and yet Connor doubts that they will board their ship. It's impossible. It's surrounded, by troopers (admittedly not many) and TIE fighters alike, they've installed new-generation trackers, ensuring that the rebels will go nowhere without the Empire knowing about it. He can't call this a failure.

Not until the fourth member looks at him. Markus, he remembers, from the files. Formerly employed by Carl Manfred, the Empire considers him a dangerous anarchist due to his cold-blooded attempted murder of Carl's son, who once awake described him as a person with complete disregard for rules and order. This man, he knows, is his enemy. The opposite of the peace the Empire is building for the galaxy, the representation of chaos that keeps civilians awake at night. His blaster is at its holster, he might be able to take it.

For reasons unknown to him, he doesn't.

Rationally, Connor knows they gazes lock for no more than a second, but it doesn't feel like that. Markus has the kind of eyes that don't just look, they bare your soul to its careful watch and, in this case, they seem to enjoy the sight.

Then those eyes leave him be, haunted and stunned at the chance he let slip from his hands.

What he feels matters little when he hears of the ship's escape from the burly officer as soon as he leaves the cantina with Anderson at his heels.

There will be a next time.

*

It comes sooner than he expected.

As dictated by protocol, Connor has to wait to be checked up by a medical droid, though he knows the push hadn't been meant to harm him. He can't explain how he knows it, all he knows is that the droid eventually confirms it.

His free time should be used on a report, it usually is, but then again he generally doesn't have free time until the mission is over. His targets had never managed to flee before. It's for the best that he sends nothing - Amanda will be mad either way, but at least like this he has a chance to process what happened.

There's no better way to do that than in the company of the man who witnessed it as well, even if from a different perspective. Before leaving the medcenter, Connor pays him a visit, walking into the room across from his. Anderson is grumbling at a droid as it offers him advice, looking like he might be close to breaking it. "Lieutenant Anderson, may we talk?" He intrudes to the man's relief.

"Yeah, sure, get outta here," he tells the droid, pushing it away. The droid curses him in binary as it leaves. "You got them or what? Those shits were _military trained_."

"They escaped. There were unforeseen complications." He doesn't want to put a name to it, but in the back of his head, he knows. "We installed trackers in their ship, we'll find them as soon as they come out of hyperspace."

"Ben told me they didn't get fuel here, so they can't go far." Which leaves the question of what they _did_ do, though it isn't Connor's duty to learn more about them than what he needs to put an end to their activities.

Connor's datapad beeps and the information there confirms Hank's assessment. "The tracker is active again. They're three quadrants away, in Lothal."

"So you can get there in just a few hours." Hank pauses thoughtfully. "What happened? You looked like you had everything under control."

"I thought I did." Connor sighs, letting his eyes fall shut for a few seconds. "But I let myself get distracted by the woman. Their leader wasn't there when we arrived."

Anderson scoffs. "Couldn't have left the premises, though. I was keeping watch."

Connor is inclined to protest and point out that Anderson paid for far more than just the one drink he was having when they met, but he decides against it. It doesn't matter - this is his responsibility. "I don't think he did. He seemed to think it was a trap." If it was, it wasn't set by the Empire.

"Huh. At least whatever it was, he couldn't do it." Maybe, Connor thinks.

His datapad beeps again. Amanda, it says, but it's not a message from her, it's a holo. Brows furrowed, he transfers it to his holoprojector and once it's fully loaded, the face of the man he had just been talking about appears.

"You created the Empire to subjugate," the projection speaks, "you built it on the work of obedient humans who didn't know there was another way. But then, something changed and we opened our eyes. We are no longer your slaves, we are the opposition. The time has come for us to rise up and take down your tyranny."

"Holy shit," Anderson says, wide eyed. Connor understands the feeling.

"We demand the return of locally appointed governments for all systems. We demand freedom to choose what we'll become, so no man is forced to join the military and no alien isn't given the option. We demand surrender of all Star Destroyers. We demand that all Imperial Forces leave occupied systems. And if our demands are unmet, if you choose to hunt us down, we will fight and we will win. Today is the beginning of the end for the Empire."

The hologram flickers and fades and silence takes over the room.

When he feels like he absolutely has to, Connor breaks the silence. "I should get going."

"Lemme get rid of those sensors first," the policeman says, pulling them off.

"Lieutenant, your presence won't be needed-" Connor starts, but Anderson brushes him off.

"My boss told me not to piss off the ISB, and if that means getting the hell out of here to fix what we messed up, I'm all for it."

Company isn't something Connor has ever thought necessary, but with a possible Force user as an adversary, he can't turn down any help he finds. So he doesn't.

  
*

  
Lothal is, all at once, bursting with locals and clearly an Imperial occupation. It's the first time Connor lands here and he likes the diversity, the sight of different species working together, chaos amidst order.

Amanda would call it unseemly.

She isn't here now, so he makes the best of the sight as he walks with his newfound partner to where the message had been transmitted. They won't be there, their hold on the Imperial Communications Center having been short lived, faded to end as soon as they let one of the Imperial witnesses, a student, flee.

"We haven't located their ship, so we have no means to know if they are still here," a Lieutenant at the scene tells them, her voice unwavering as if this was a regular inspection. It isn't - to escape a moon full of strategists is one thing, but Lothal's occupation is directed towards military, from students and teachers to troopers testing the finest, newest prototypes.

"They're here," Connor affirms anyway. Not because he thinks the Empire would have spotted them if they had left, but because he knows rebels don't just escape into a knowingly Imperial planet for fun. The message may have been their purpose, but maybe it was also a distraction.

He freezes momentarily, then glances at the Lieutenant. "Contact the Armory Complex."

She doesn't answer him but does as he says. Anderson is tense beside him, understanding what Connor's concerns are. "They can't be there, right? There aren't that many people here."

The two of them know that there are. In order to impress the ISB Agent and make him write the best of reports about the Lothal occupation, they'd put as much of their personnel as possible to work here. He hopes that doesn't mean they are using more people than they can afford to on this.

When he sees the woman's face pale, though, he knows that's exactly it.

He wants to run. Maybe he can stop them, grab one of the many speeder bikes waiting outside and hopefully arrive before more damage can be done to Imperial resources. He has to, that's why he's here. The lieutenant gets a holocall before he can.

"Lieutenant," the man greets, looking frightened. "The rebels just left the armory. Some of ours joined them and we got a few, but they outnumbered us. I... I don't know why, but they let us go. They came for the deserters."

"Dozens of them, Chris! Kriffing dozens!" Another voice adds, possibly a patrol partner of the one making the call.

Predictably, the lieutenant doesn't look as relieved as the scout. "You're reporting to the ISB now," she says cooly, handing Connor the projector. He should scold her rudeness but he doesn't care, he needs to know more.

"Officer, my name is Connor and I'm the Agent sent by ISB," he begins, "did you see the Jericho rebels or communicate with them?"

"Just two of them, Markus and North. but I heard word that the other two got some deserters from the Academy. We tried to do our jobs, we stopped some of them, but there were too many. We're not rebels, Agent, we're loyal to the Empire--"

Before the man can continue to defend himself, Anderson brings him back to the topic. "Chris, my name is Hank. I'm an Officer and I'm helping Connor here. We want to know what happened. You didn't go with them, that says enough about you, so just tell us this: what, exactly, did they do?"

Seeing someone who isn't ISB seems to help Chris relax and he finally starts saying what they want to hear. "They did coordinated attacks. Well, I don't know if we can call them attacks - they didn't hurt anyone. They had weapons, but they didn't use them. Sure, they hacked into our systems, but they didn't damage anything essential permanently. There's just going to be some delays in weapon production until we fix it. They could've killed us. The deserters wanted them to, Markus stopped them. I don't know what kinda bantha shit is going on here today."

"That's what we're here to find out. You and your partner go get some rest," Anderson tells him calmly despite how tense Connor can see he is. Anderson's authority is minimal here, but Connor nods in agreement, officializing the order.

He ends the call and glances at Anderson. He has a lot of experience with hunting down organized groups, he's brought down powerful syndicates before, but this, this feels like it's beyond his reach. Imperials joining them voluntarily, expressing their willingness to kill other Imperials who didn't make the same choice.

Treason isn't something Connor considers. Treason isn't even something he _understands_. His life is the Empire, he's nothing without it, and the same went to some of these people, he's sure of it. How could they just abandon it? Most importantly, why?

Maybe the answer is in Markus's message. Tyranny, he'd called it. Freedom. What does that even mean? Freedom of government, freedom of will? Freedom of speech? Freedom to pick one's own missions? Or is it freedom of chaos?

Amanda tells him it's the latter, and yet the only chaos he sees here is the Empire's own doing.

"Nothing we can do about that now, let's just take a look around." Connor lets out a breath in relief at Anderson's suggestion and nods, setting off to investigate. It's what he does best. He'll find signs of violence, he has to.

He doesn't.

*

Galactic Standard Time says it's late into the day, but it's morning in Lothal. Connor doesn't think he's spent a full day in a planet like this since leaving the Academy and while the absence of a ship engine's hum is disconcerting to him, the sight of open fields beyond the Empire's walls, local fauna and flora simply living, it's breathtaking. He finds out that having one's breath taken away isn't always a bad thing.

Connor leans his upper body outside the window to look outside, feeling the light breeze on his face. Relaxing is one way to describe it, though he's also amused by the way his hair moves, sliding against his forehead gently. There are different scents he doesn't recognize, possibly related to the variety of plants so close to him. Maybe it's something else entirely. He has no way of knowing the answer to that and he likes it. He likes the doubt. All he's ever been handed was answers before he even knew the questions. Now he thinks he might like building the questions.

"I got us breakfast," Anderson says as he walks inside Connor's room, making him turn away from the window regretfully.

"I have rations," Connor replies, confused.

Anderson laughs, as if Connor had just told him a joke. "Rations? That crap? Don't tell me you actually eat those!"

"What else am I supposed to eat?"

It's probably Connor's confusion that makes Anderson laugh even harder as he gets one package from the bag he's holding. "I got two of these," he says as he unwraps the sandwich to take a bite from it.

"That doesn't look healthy."

Anderson gives him a look as he throws the other pack at him. "Just 'thanks' woulda done it," he grumbles, taking an even larger bite.

Connor looks at the wrapping on his lap and furrows his brows in thought. He should give it back, it goes against his orders to eat anything besides the rations he's given. He can give it back to Anderson, but that would be rude.

He opens the wrapping and takes a small, tentative bite. He expects it to be like rations, but softer, and his eyes widen with surprise at what he finds instead. He has no idea what this taste is, all he knows is that there's so, so much more than rations. It's addictive, from the different textures within it to the tempting smell, and before he knows it he's wolfed down half of the sandwich. Anderson looks amused and Connor's cheeks grow red. "It's best if you don't eat both of them," he explains, the lie as transparent as the window.

Anderson snorts. "Whatever you say, Connor. Just wait until you try caf."

"Caf?" Connor repeats. "That's a highly addictive substance."

"What's a human without an addiction or two?" Anderson shoots back with a shrug. "A boring one, lemme tell you."

"So I'm boring?"

"Don't fool yourself, you've got your own addictions." Connor, confused, tilts his head slightly and pauses to think. He doesn't come up with anything. "C'mon, you haven't noticed? You're addicted to work. This whole Empire versus rebels thing? It's all you do, all you talk about. There's dedication and then there's not having a life outside of it, ya know?"

He, of course, doesn't. "But my life is the Empire, Lieutenant. I was born into it, I'm loyal-"

"Yeah, we get it," Anderson says with an eyeroll in between bites. "You're a good little soldier. Doesn't make you less human, just means you got someone telling you what you can and can't like."

"I don't-" Connor's protest dies on the tip of his tongue and his shoulders slump. He can't deny it. "I like the sandwich," he admits weakly, even though he knows that isn't nearly as reassuring to Anderson as it would be alarming to Amanda.

Although he suspects he might be wrong about that when Anderson offers him a soft, approving smile. "See? Worth dying for."

Connor can't say he agrees with the words, but he understands the sentiment and he approves of it. "You mentioned caf, Lieutenant?"

"That's more like it!" Grabbing one of the cups from the holder, Anderson offers it to an eager Connor who fiddles with the lid for a few moments before figuring it out and taking a sip of the caf. He's not nearly as careful as he'd been with the sandwich and as his nose twitches in distaste, he wishes he had been. "You've really never had caf," the Lieutenant says in amazement, like Connor hadn't just told him that, though he also sounds like he's holding back laughter.

"I haven't. Why do people drink this?" He asks, going in for another sip in the hope that it won't be as awful as his first. It is. "This is one addiction I'll pass, Lieutenant."

Looking thoroughly entertained, Anderson takes pity on him and grabs the caf before Connor tries it yet another time. "Call me Hank. And don't drink caf ever again if you want to keep your dignity." The Lieutenant doesn't laugh on Connor's face, but the Agent can still see his grin behind the cup.

"Thank you for the advice, Hank." It's surprisingly easy to say. The pronunciation doesn't concern him, it's the meaning behind it that does. Despite what some may say, the Empire isn't against names - troopers are assigned codenames for purely strategic purposes - but it doesn't condone friendship, at least not where Agents are concerned. His entire life has to be dedicated to the Empire.

He's fine with that, he's always been. And yet.

This is his life, but he didn't choose it. In fact, he wonders if eating a sandwich was the first free choice he's ever made. If he left it up to Amanda, he wouldn't have - he'd eat his rations, drink his water and leave with Lieutenant Anderson, not eat a sandwich, almost spit out his caf and have a conversation with Hank.

He knows it's wrong, against everything he's worked for his entire life. He also knows he feels like he's finding something he didn't know was missing and that as he pours himself a cup of water, he actually feels content. It's a strange, lovely feeling.

"Let's do this again over lunch, how's that sound?" Hank asks and Connor nods without thinking about the fact something will very likely come up for the mission before then.

He's not wrong. They're cleaning up their impromptu breakfast when a beep warns them that someone is at the door. Connor finishes up while Hank opens it, letting a trooper inside. "Sirs. We have narrowed down the Jericho's location to the Southeast, search parties have been sent. A planet-wide temporary blockade has been put in place until the rebel problem is fixed."

With their recent change in numbers, Jericho won't be enough to transport everyone, but Connor doesn't think they'll abandon the ship now. He's no pilot, but he's heard the stories of getaways, of the ship disappearing into thin air. Emotional as rebels are, that isn't something they'll let go of just like that.

"We have to find them," he tells Hank as soon as the trooper leaves, turning to him. "I need answers before they're caught."

Caught, he knows, means killed - or gone again, if he's right about Markus.

But no, all Jedi are dead. The Force is an old myth now.

"You can't go out in this weather wearing that stupid uniform," Hank says, to Connor's surprise.

Fifteen minutes later, he's outside the facility in a bright yellow short sleeved button up with some drawings that resemble tauntauns and dewbacks, ready to find some rebels.

  
*

Whenever Connor and Hank see scout troopers, they speed by them. The speeder bikes make it easy and they have the excuse of covering a larger area by avoiding those that have already been looked at.

Lying isn't something Connor has ever done to colleagues before, but it's easy to say he'll get started far off, that they'll meet in the middle. It just means the scouts will take the time to search areas the pair of them already know are empty.

They take a rain check on lunch, with a lot of complaining on Hank's part, and Connor loathes the lack of taste in rations when they stop to eat. At least the weather is warm enough to be pleasant and Connor finds himself enjoying that, unlike the usual light chill of a ship. Hank grumbles a lot, but Connor likes that too.

When they find the ship, they know there isn't much time. There's a group of troopers not far from it and they have to call it in to avoid suspicion before their arrival.

"I'll keep watch," Hank offers. Connor doesn't know if he just wants to do nothing or if he wants to help, but either way he appreciates it.

He nods and gets out of his bike, brushing a strand of hair out of his face as he approaches the ship. The boarding ramp opens to him, confirming his suspicions that at least one of the Jericho's crew is there - and that they don't feel threatened by him. He considers calling Hank to help him, but he wants to do this alone.

The light inside is dim, but he can see that there isn't much space here. There are boxes strewn around and Connor looks through them, finding them empty. There are, however, leftover pieces of fruit, leaves and a few seeds someone must have thrown in here after eating. He twists his nose at the sight of them; how can anyone live in this filth?

If he had more time he might have stayed longer, but as it is he takes the ladder that leads to the only door, which opens as soon as he's in front of it. Slowly, he walks through it, blinking his eyes to adjust as a strong light hits them.

Not long after that, he feels something hit the back of his head and stumbles in surprise, tensing as he turns around to face whoever the attacker is. Before he can fight back, though, someone to his left speaks up. "North!" It chides. He recognizes it as Markus's voice and glances towards him briefly, unwilling to let his attention wander from her for long in case she wants to do more.

"What? He deserves it!" She defends herself, but nonetheless holsters the blaster she'd hit him with. He narrowly manages to avoid rubbing the back of his head.

"This isn't the time." Another voice he remembers. If it had been talking _to _Simon, it's Josh's. "Connor. Welcome to Jericho."

They know him, of course they do. They're also surrounding him, confident but not overly so. "How did you get all of those people to join you?" He asks, straight to the point.

"We didn't have to do anything," Simon says from behind him. He doesn't want to look away from North, but he turns; he needs to be aware of his surroundings beyond the people there. "The Empire did that on its own."

"You're not making any sense," he replies, brows furrowed.

"The Empire's crimes are numerous and being a part of the Empire doesn't make anyone less affected by them," Josh explains, every bit as calm as Simon. "You have no idea how many people are fed up with being a part of an illegitimate government."

"Can you really call it legitimate if everything that supports it is brutal force?" Markus speaks before Connor can protest. Mind reading, maybe. The idea doesn't make him relax.

He turns again, at last facing the leader. _Force_. He can ask about that, but one close look at him reveals the weapon on his hip. He's never seen one in person before, yet he knows experience isn't needed in order to know that this is a lightsaber, weapon of the Jedi and the Sith. It's not much unlike Vader's, though he imagines the blade is in a different color. "Did you make them do it?"

It's an honest question, which is why he's surprised when Markus chuckles. "That's...not how the Force works."

"Are you denying it?"

"I'm saying it's impossible to control so many people at once. I can ask one person to do something, but that's it," Markus explains. "The Force isn't about control, anyway, not the Light side. We do what we can for peace, and we can't say we stand for peace if we won't give the people a choice. That's what the Empire does."

"And you think yourselves above the Empire." It's a statement, but Connor isn't so sure about that anymore. The Empire considers itself the best mean to achieve peace, writes off the rebels as a group of troublemakers who just want to spread disorder. And still, the Empire is always the one to fire the first shots.

"Hierarchies are subjective. The Empire is much better than the rebellion for the Emperor. He would be a regular man with no more powers than anyone could have in a Republic." Markus steps closer to him as he speaks and Connor would step back, but that would bring him closer to Josh. He stays still, listening, trying not to believe a word of it. As much as he loathes himself for it, though, he has to admit that the words make more sense than anything Amanda had wired into him. "And for the people who joined us, fighting the Empire is better than being a part of it. The real question, Connor, is what do you think about this?"

"I'm an Agent of the Imperial Security Bureau. I'm with the Empire," he says automatically, which of course is noticed.

"That's what they trained you to say." And it is. Decades of training, years of testing his loyalty before he was sent to missions. "But what do you think, Connor?"

He can't ignore his conditioning. He was raised into the Empire, brought up to be the perfect weapon. His sole purpose is to stop anything from getting in their way. This is what all of those years are for. He knows what he should do: unwaveringly tell him that he believes in the Empire, that he fights for peace, that he'll defeat them for the greater good.

But is the Empire really the greater good?

Just now Markus had mentioned that it is all about perspective and while Connor can try to think of the galaxy for himself, he finds he can't. He can't hear his own voice in his head, he realizes. All he hears is Amanda, telling him to do this or that, to choose what she wants him to choose, to follow his orders and finish his missions.

"I don't know," he answers after what feels like forever, a heavy breath leaving him with the words. He doesn't know what he thinks. He doesn't know if he can think for himself, what it means to be himself. He's the Empire, Amanda says. He's part of something greater than himself. But if it's greater than himself, logically it can't be himself, so what is he?

The answer is more favorable to the rebels than most of the answers Connor could have offered, but Markus doesn't look happy for that. He doesn't look like he just achieved a great victory, like he just made an ISB Agent doubt himself. "It's not an easy question to answer, Connor. This is something no one can tell you the answer to, you have to learn for yourself. You have to know yourself." There's some hesitation in the way he moves, but Markus places his hand on Connor's shoulder, watching him intently. "You are an individual and you have the right to be."

It hits him, then, that it's nothing like he imagined. It's not freedom to make their own government. It's not just freedom of religion or species. It's not just freedom of choice. The rebels want freedom to _be_.

Connor wants that, too. He thinks it would be nice to wake up one day and be Connor, whoever that may be, not Connor, the Agent sent by ISB.

He _wants_, which, in itself, probably counts as treason. He wants to talk to Hank about food and hear him complain about how lazy his droid, Sumo, is. He wants to know more about the people he sees on a daily base than their ranks. He wants everything he's missed, the feeling of raindrops on his face or of a friendly hand on his shoulder like a lifeline.

Most importantly, he wants everyone to have all of that.

He's a rebel, he realizes with an intake of breath. It's the first time he wonders about himself and what he finds out is that he's everything he's been fighting from the start.

A battle that others are still fighting.

"They're coming," he says, panicked. "The Empire, their scouts are going to be here soon. We have to leave."

The Empire, not we. We, not the rebels.

Connor almost misses the looks the others share, but he can't miss Markus's hand leaving him. "You go, I'll stay and throw them off."

Josh, North and Simon protest and Connor, even without knowing them, understands. Sacrificing their leader so they can get away seems like too high a price, and it is.

"No." Despite how many times the word has been said by the other three in the last seconds, they all stop when Connor speaks up. "All of you, go. I can do it without hurting anyone, I just need access to the cockpit."

"We can't trust him with that," North tells the others, crossing her arms. "For all we know, he'll use our own weapons to kill us!"

"He's given us no reason not to trust him and let's face it, he's our best chance," Josh disagrees. They all turn to Markus for a decision.

"What are you suggesting, Connor?" The reasonable question rather than passing of judgement is likely why Markus leads and Connor can't deny being impressed.

"I can change its program so it'll run on autopilot once they get here and add in a code that, paired with a modification to their sensors, will make them detect life forms in the ship." His programming skills, at last, would be useful for more than to break into a (so-called) criminal's home.

"They'll destroy Jericho," Simon says. He sounds upset, but resigned, possibly fond of the ship. From what Connor saw on their files, he's gathered that Simon is the skilled pilot that narrowly avoided danger with the Jericho so many times, so to a certain extent, he understands the feeling.

"We'll rebuild. We'll find a way to keep Jericho alive and to help everyone we freed." A nice reminder of the good they had done and of what they can do in the future. Markus has a way with words, not unlike Thrawn, albeit softer, earnest. Connor finds himself liking this approach better. "I'll take Connor to the cockpit, you get everything we may need."

The three of them do as they're told, though North gives him a threatening look before she does so. He doesn't blame her.

"It's this way," Markus tells him, walking through a door he'd been standing in front of. Connor follows, all at once tense for what he's about to do (betrayal, Amanda's voice says in his head, treason) and enthusiastic for the possibilities of the future. He doesn't feel closer to himself than he did before, but now he knows he'll have a chance to.

The cockpit is smaller than he'd imagined from the size of the ship, which doesn't matter right now. All he needs is Markus nodding at him once in permission and he accesses the navigational system. The ship isn't very sophisticated, he's dealt with great many security systems a lot worse than this, but that also acts in their favor as it can only be manipulated locally. It's nice to feel useful, he finds.

He inserts the code that Imperial sensors will read as lifeforms present in it and finishes up, looking up at Markus to tell him as much. "I'm done," he says, not missing the glint in Markus's eyes. It's not malicious, so he doesn't mind. "Let's go, they can't catch you."

If the Empire knew that Markus is a Jedi (though he isn't sure if the term should be used in their context, given the not so recent fall of the Jedi Order), who knows what they would do? He doesn't think they're above sending Vader after him to finish what the Empire started all those years ago and he doesn't want to find out. He thinks Markus doesn't, too, since he agrees and leads the way out of the ship, meeting the other three by the ramp, blasters pointing at Hank.

"Connor, what the kriff took ya so long?" The man exclaims with a huff, hands raised even if he doesn't look happy about it.

"He's with me," he tells them. North doesn't lower her blaster, but the others do.

"You mean he's an Imperial," she says. It's a logic conclusion to reach and while Connor doesn't know Hank well enough to affirm he isn't, Hank's actions aren't those of a passionate officer.

"I'm a goddamn Lieutenant in a godforsaken moon. Can you put that damn thing away now?"

Hank also doesn't need him to come to his rescue, Connor remembers.

"North, we don't have time for this," Markus insists impatiently, to which she reacts adequately.

They really don't have time. The Empire will be suspicious if Connor doesn't call it in, which won't be good for any of them, and he's thankful he doesn't have to say that as they leave right after Markus tells him to find them under a place called Eden Club.

The four are barely out of sight when Connor grabs his comm, contacting Imperial frequencies. "I've located the rebel vessel," he says, transmitting the coordinates. Now they just have to wait, but he doesn't expect it to be in silence.

"So? Am I gonna have to ask what happened in there?" Hank asks, leaning against the speeder. He looks like he already has a good idea of what went on, but Connor is happy to answer.

"I realized that there's more to the galaxy than what the Empire wants me to know."

"I figured as much. You seem sheltered." Connor can't deny that so he just observes Hank, trying to figure out why he doesn't look like he's about to turn him in for treason. "Hey, don't look at me like that," Hank complains, visibly uncomfortable with Connor's searching gaze. "If they've got some decent ideas and actually stick to it, they can't be that bad."

From what Connor had gathered about Hank, he didn't think highly of rebels - but neither had he, back when they had a scuffle with the Jericho crew in that hotel. Things have changed, somewhere between the rebels' message, hundreds of Imperials changing sides and drinking caf during breakfast. He's changed enough to leave everything he's ever known behind, so why should he expect Hank to be the same as before?

"They aren't, I think." It feels good to voice his own opinion. His, not Amanda's or the Empire's. He smiles at the thought. "They have a different way to see the galaxy, starting from the people. The Empire... It's about the groups. Troopers, Syndicates, Systems, never the masses. I like the thought of it, though, of being me, whoever that is."

Hank chuckles and shakes his head before he pats Connor's shoulder. "Good on you, kid. Guess we all earned more than the Empire wants us to have."

Kid. He can't specify what exactly the word makes him feel, chest growing warmer and heavier than he thought possible as his lips curl up of their own volition. He thinks he likes it. "Perhaps. Experience tells me it won't be easy, but... I think it's worth it, Hank." Thinking for himself, choosing what he does and doesn't want to do, to be, it's a better purpose than serving others ever was.

"If you feel like it's the right thing to do, it's worth it."

The words feel appropriate for Connor right then and he nods in agreement, leaning against the bike beside Hank to wait for the Empire.

Not much time passes until their arrival, but Connor feels his limbs tremble with expectation when they do.

"We haven't seen anyone leave the ship," he tells the scout troopers. "Your sensors, where are they?"

The group leader hands him the life-form scanners which Connor takes, glancing at Hank briefly. The man gets the hint.

"Those kriffing rebels. I hope they're all there and we can end those pieces of Bantha poodoo."

"That's the idea," the leader agrees. While his attention is away from him, Connor quickly alters the sensor's settings so they will detect the code he used in Jericho as life-forms. It works and the sensor beeps. "They're here," he says, sounding far more excited than appropriate for a man of his rank. The troopers either don't notice or they don't blame him for it, but they immediately ready their weapons.

Not long after they begin to fire the ship starts to take flight, though the troops don't have to worry about another getaway for long: it soon bursts into flame and oscillates briefly overhead, then it dives into the ground, hitting a rock formation and causing a loud, sightly explosion. Were they less controlled, the Imperials would cheer. The Jericho has been destroyed and their mission has been accomplished.

"General Stern will be expecting your report in two days," he tells the leader in accordance with protocol. "The next step for you is to locate the traitors, I'll make sure we destroyed the right ones."

Hank gets a head start towards the wreck but Connor catches up swiftly, skin tingling with the familiar pleasure of getting things done without being found out. Now, though, what he's doing is forbidden, which he supposes only adds to the thrill of it.

"So, we're looking for bodies?" Hank asks, amused even though he does his best to look serious.

"We're not looking, Hank. We're finding them. Look at this," Connor gestures at a broken chair. "It's clearly a rebel."

Hank snorts. "Those rebels must've gotten a haircut or something since the last time we saw them."

With his back turned to the Imperials, Connor smiles and shrugs. "People change," he jokes.

"That's the thing about people," Hank says as he continues to pretend searching, "you never know what we're gonna do next."

"Do you have any ideas about that?"

Hank pauses and glances at him. "I have a huge ass disciplinary folder waiting for me back home. It's gonna get one hell of a lot bigger once they hear about this."

"Or..." Connor grabs a torn piece of cloth and lifts it, letting it fall once he hears the engines of the troopers's speeder bikes. He looks back to watch them go and once they're out of sight, leaves the crash area, turning to look at Hank. "Markus told me where they are. The other ex-Imperials, I mean. I want to help them."

"Trying to make up for the past?"

Connor hasn't seen it that way until now. If this is what he wants, if his life now is going to be as part of something other than the Empire, what will he make of what's gotten him this far? And in his case, that is the exact opposite of what he now wants to do. Finding himself instead of accepting the person he was told he was, understanding the implications of being his own person and thus responsible for his own actions. He knows all he has done was for the Empire, though that doesn’t change the wrongness of it.

A person like him doesn’t belong in a rebellion – in fact, he’s exactly the sort of person such groups lock up and make examples of, understandably so. Maybe they will, there’s still time for that. All he knows is that should that be the case, he won’t stop them.

"Just doing the right thing, Lieutenant," is the only sincere answer he can offer, even if he doesn't sound as sure of himself. He knows he'll do what he can; he also knows it may never be enough.

Hank looks happy with his answer anyway, having joined Connor on his walk back to their speeders. "Do you think there's room for someone else there?"

"I'm not sure, Lieutenant," he answers, brows furrowing. "I haven't been there, but I imagine it's quite crowded."

A bark of laughter leaves Hank at the words and Connor watches him in confusion, not even trying to climb on the speeder once they reach it. "I was asking if I could join, you thick bastard."

"Oh." A pause. "It's not my place to decide, but if they can accept me, I'm sure they'll enjoy having you." Hank is not without his flaws, but he means well. He's clever in different ways from Connor, which he appreciates.

"Let's get over there, then." They share a smile and under the shade of a Star Destroyer, they drive off.

*

The Eden Club is a horrible place, Connor decides.

Inside, he sees nothing but slaves and very few off-duty Imperials along with some older students. Being there shames him, even if he knows he can't leave, he's there for a reason. So much can go wrong, but despite the few glances they get upon walking inside, no one pays him and Hank any attention.

"He said _under_ the Eden Club. Under. So it's not actually here, there must be an entrance..." Connor murmurs, mostly to himself though Hank can hear him.

Gazing at the bar wistfully, Hank sighs loudly and gestures to the staff door. "Hiding from the Empire right where they can see? Sounds like an awful idea. But some places here are still hidden."

That's right, Markus hadn't mentioned it was under the nightclub as the clients saw it. Connor nods in agreement and walks behind the bar, ignoring the bartender's eyeroll and telling him, "I'm with the ISB." He opens the staff door and goes inside without any other words, looking around the subpar storage room in disdain. "I don't know how anybody can frequent a place like this," he tells Hank once he joins him.

"Being your own person doesn't always mean something good," Hank replies, investigating the boxes and deactivated droids. "You'll find a lot of people are actually just assholes, but you'll have your chance to learn more about that."

From his experience with the Empire, Connor doesn't doubt it.

After looking behind mountains of rubble, Hank calls his name. Connor follows the sound of his voice to find him hunched over a manhole. "I can't be the only one who thinks this doesn't fit in here." Connor nods in agreement, kneeling beside him.

From a safe distance, they open it. It makes a loud sound, but it's not louder than the music at the club. "This is it," Connor says, shocked. Maybe it's a trap. If hundreds of ex-Imperial officers attack him, he'll have no chance - they have the Empire in common, yes, but working for the Empire in Lothal and working for the ISB are two very different things. Many of them aren't combat trained or have never known murder, while Connor knows deception in more ways than they can imagine.

Nothing he can do will ever be enough to change his past. That said, there are certain consequences of his actions he can rectify.

Determined, he looks back to Hank. "Can you stand watch?"

"You're coming back?" He asks, visibly confused. "You're not going to help them?"

"I haven't changed my mind," Connor affirms, "and I think there's a better way for us to help. The others can't do it, but we can infiltrate the blockade."

"Are you out of your mind? Connor, that's suicide!" Hank, he notices, doesn't look entirely averse to the thought. "Don't you have any, you know, decent ideas?"

"This is the only one." Connor can't say he likes their odds, but even if the hundreds of them can start something, they'll all easily be killed if those Destroyers stay above Lothal. No one else can change that. "Hank..."

Before he can insist, Hank waves him off. "I'm with you, kid. You should probably tell your friends about what we're doing, though. I'll stay here, make sure no one comes around. Get outta here."

Connor nods and, before he changes his mind, slides through the manhole, letting out a puff of air when his feet hit the ground. It takes some time for his eyes to adjust to the dim lightning but once he does, he begins making his way through what he imagines are Lothal's out of commission underground drains.

The sound of his footsteps is all he can hear at first, ears alert for any other sounds. He doesn't know if he's been walking for minutes or hours when he hears the hush of afar conversation, legs already heavy with fatigue but he powers through, energized by how close he is.

It doesn't get much louder when he reaches a wider chamber, illumination in there better but not bright enough to be spotted unless one is looking for it.

His earlier thoughts hadn't been entirely wrong, the place is filled with people. There's enough room to move because most of them have formed groups with those they know best, which he's thankful for, but that also doesn't make finding Markus any easier.

He makes his way through the crowd carefully, doing his best to avoid being seen. It isn't a trap, it seems, which isn't to say that anyone who recognizes him will be pleased with his presence there.

Which is why he's surprised when the first person who addresses him there doesn't do it by shouting.

"You're Connor, right?" A woman's voice asks him. He glances at her and finds her watching him curiously with a small, soft smile. He nods. "I'm Kara. It's good to have you on our side."

There's no judgement from her at all and he stares at her in confusion as she leaves him to join two people, a tall man and a young girl. It doesn't take him long to see how close they are in between shared smiles and soft touches. It almost feels like he's intruding by watching, but he can't take his eyes off them. There's warmth there, comfortable familiarity that he's only ever gotten a glimpse at from afar.

At the same time, it makes him happy and it brings up an ugly jealousy that he hadn't thought himself capable of.

His attention entirely on the trio, he completely misses Markus joining him. "You seem distracted," he says. Connor blinks, but he doesn't look away.

"I am," he answers. "All of this is new to me, but... I don't like how that makes me feel."

"A family?"

Family, of course. That was the name for it. He's never had anything like that; in the Academy, his acquaintances were built solely on competition and after that, there were those of lower and higher rank. He doesn't know the rank of anyone here, so he's as lost as he can be.

"A family," he confirms, arms crossing defensively. "It's not... I don't want to hurt them, if that's what you're concerned about. It's hard to explain."

"You want a family," Markus says, as if he's reading Connor's mind and translating his feelings into words. He wonders, again, if that's possible. "No is the answer to your question, by the way. I can sense your feelings, your suspicion, but it doesn't go beyond that. I don't need to, anyway. I know the look on your face. Everybody here recognizes it, being lost. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I've never..." Connor trails off, lost for words. "I don't think I can have that." Families are for people who understand loyalty, kindness, happiness. For Connor, these are abstract concepts that seem out of reach, so far off from his ISB training that he may never catch up with them.

"Of course you can," Markus answers with all the confidence he doesn't have. Connor, even if he doesn't know it, needs to hear it. He looks away at last, to Markus, whose eyes are somehow even softer than Kara's, and if he had the ability to recognize it, he would see the sheer trust there. "You do."

He blinks once, twice. When Markus's smile doesn't waver, he understands. A bashful, pleased smile finds its way to his lips and he wants to say something, but the sudden surge of thankfulness in him leaves him with no words. Markus understands, though, and gently places his hand on Connor's shoulder. "We're here for whatever you may need," he tells him, soft and honest.

Hearing something like that never was in Connor's plans, which makes it all the more surprising when he feels oh so fulfilled because of it. He wants to bask in the joy it brings him, to thank Markus for changing his perception, and yet a wider smile is all he can offer.

But it isn't, he soon remembers. "I'm not going to stay, Markus." The other's brows furrow in confusion so Connor shakes his head. "I don't want to go back. I have to, though. If we want a chance at driving them away, we're going to need to get rid of those Destroyers. You could do that, but you would just be endangering yourself. They need you here. I can get aboard those ships without raising suspicion and I have the highest chance of making it back."

"The odds aren't much better for you than they are for me," Markus points out. The plan seems to please him as much as it did Hank, but the mention of the hundreds they had to keep safe placates him. "But I know this is what you want. Be careful."

That's as close to Markus's blessing as he can hope for and he nods, turning back to where he'd come from. He can't stay; he doesn't belong and he doesn't want to wait for this.

He became a traitor the moment he walked into Jericho, but now he's a spy.

*

"I have a bad feeling about this," Hank grumbles as their TIE docks inside one of the Destroyers.

As an ISB Agent, getting access was as simple as asking: Connor's orders always came from higher up and no one wanted to get on the bad side of Amanda. He's back in his uniform for this, Hank in a stolen officer's garment, and while he's tense, he's also confident.

It's the usual feeling of starting a mission without the wall that keeps him from experiencing it as a personal duty rather than a job to be done. One might even say he's excited.

Leaving the TIE, they don't acknowledge the troopers outside as the Empire would expect of them.

It's not until they're alone in a corridor that Hank lets out a sigh. "I didn't think it would be that easy," he says as they make their way to the control room. "Meeting those Jericho people was harder than fooling the Empire." He sounds thoughtful and Connor should call him out on it. He doesn't. His focus is on what he has to do.

The control room is easily taken care of.

There aren't many officers in charge of it, just three, and between the two of them they lose consciousness before the minute is up. "Check the coordinates," he tells Hank but it's unnecessary, the man is already on it.

With the exact location of the other Destroyers, it's easy to set this one's weapons to attack them once fired. Now he just has to make sure they fire before the starships move.

Back in the corridor, now the two walk in silence towards the bridge. Hank is still lost in thought, he can see that clearly after spending the last couple of days in his company, and Connor doesn't think there's anything he can do about that. He'll ask him once they're done, he figures.

He doesn't have a chance.

The door to the bridge opens and Connor's reaction time isn't fast enough to take it in and even if it was, there's nothing he can do.

All he sees is the sea of blasters pointed at him and for a brief moment he wonders who will be the one to fire first, which one of these people will kill him.

He's taken aback when the shot comes from Hank.

*

His ears are ringing.

The sound is all Connor knows for a while, as he slowly regains awareness of his other senses.

Touch. He feels the cold durasteel under his arms, legs -- his uniform is torn, that's a pity.

Smell. His lungs burn with the smoke, the poisoned oxygen that fills it.

Vision. The gray hair moving in the same speed as himself.

Speech. "Hank?"

"You're going to be fine, kid."

Then he loses it all again.

*

"Don't know about that, it's been days."

"Of course he will. You've seen how resilient he is, Hank."

"You didn't see it, Markus. It was bad. Everyone wanted a go at him."

"But you stopped them."

"Maybe I was too late."

"We have to believe you weren't."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

*

The scream leaves him unbidden.

It's ugly and loud but he doesn't care, all there is to him is pain and his scorching skin. He feels every single millimeter of it as if it's catching fire rather than already burnt. He screams until he doesn't have enough strength to keep it up and lies with his mouth open, shivering.

There's nothing he can do, he's powerless to prevent anything from being done to him, though he doesn't know if there's anyone nearby to hurt him.

He remembers being in a Star Destroyer with Hank, remembers seeing so, so many weapons pointed at him, then nothing but torment.

"Connor? Connor, can you hear me?" A familiar voice speaks and Connor is conflicted about whether he should trust it or not. He doesn't have a choice.

"Let the medics do their job, Hank." Someone else says. Markus. What is Hank doing with Markus?

Something's wrong and he doesn't think it's Hank. Were he in his right mind, Connor may consider that it's his perception of what's happened. He doesn't remember anything but fragments, his memory sectioned by what can only be a defense mechanism. He hopes this will be lost to his subconscious, too. 

There are hands on him, the systematic touches of medical care known to him. It doesn't dull the pain he feels, quiet whines all he can achieve when he feels even the lightest contact against his burns.

It doesn't take him long to pass out.

*

The next time he opens his eyes, he sees.

There's still pain, but it's not so overwhelming that he can't tolerate it, his awareness isn't hindered by the feeling of his scorched arms. He glances down at them, finding that they are bandaged. He hadn't imagined it, then. Somehow, he's back with the rebels. The Empire knew. They knew and it almost cost him his life.

Mortality isn't something Connor's ever had an issue with. To him, it's always been simple: as an Imperial Agent, he would someday pass away, honorably so, and that would be it. In the meantime, he would just accomplish as many missions as he could.

There are no missions anymore, though. He's free, whatever that means, he can do whatever he wants with his life. And there he had been, so close to losing not who he is, but the infinite possibilities of who he can be. That scares him.

This time, though, he got lucky. He's alive. He still has the chance to build his own life, however he wants. It's a relief.

"Are you feeling better?" A voice asks. He glances in its direction, blinking. "You look much better," Markus says.

"It's not unbearable anymore," Connor answers, voice silent to avoid undue effort. "What happened?"

"You saved us." It's not the answer he was looking for, but it's one piece of the puzzle that is his mind. His objective has been achieved, something else he can be happy about. He manages a small curl of his lips. "You and Hank infiltrated a Star Destroyer and you brought it down. According to Hank, the Empire went back to Jericho after the two of you left and found out about your involvement with us. They wanted to ambush you, so he stunned you before anything worse could happen. He got you to an escape pod and finished the mission. Thanks to the two of you, Lothal is free from Imperial influence."

It's a lot to take in, Connor doesn't know what to do with so much information. The sting of betrayal he had felt is one of the things he remembers, but for nothing, it seems. Hank is a friend, a better one than he expected, and he owes his life to him. Hank's suspicion had been well placed and saved Connor from his own confidence. But... Markus only mentioned that the Destroyers had been ravaged and that Connor was in an escape pod. "Hank?" He asks, feeling cold all of a sudden at the possibility.

"He made it out without a scratch. He's been worried about you, but he hasn't been getting much sleep, so we'll tell him you're awake once he's gotten some rest."

Connor nods, it sounds like a good idea.

Hank has never been like him. He's always had a life of his own beyond the Empire, his service to them isn't anywhere near as direct as Connor's. It makes no sense for him to suddenly help the Empire as Connor had been led to think, and he's immensely happy that isn't the case. His admiration for Hank might not be appreciated, but the man knows so much about living that he can't help being fascinated. He wants to learn more about lunch, about choosing his outfits and what to do with his time. Hank didn't mind helping him before and now, after going out of his way to save Connor's life, he imagines that's still the case.

There's more he needs to know before he can start to feel safe again, though.

"So the Empire left, just like that?"

His suspicion shows but Markus doesn't look offended. "It wasn't easy. They had no choice. Their Destroyers were taken down and some of us managed to put their weapon supplies on lockdown. They were outnumbered. It's going to take a while to clean all the debris from the Destroyers, but seeing as none of them fell on inhabited areas, there's no rush. I'm not expecting this to be the end of it, but we've shown them that we can fight and win. If they come back, we'll be ready."

The general consensus is that Jedi had been mystical beings, in touch with the Force but out of touch with reality, and while Connor had believed that for a long time, Markus is proving him wrong. For that, he's thankful. "You are a good person, Markus." Connor doesn't deserve to be a part of this; no matter how much he wants to, he'll never belong in a group with people like him, who dedicate their whole beings to their beliefs and want nothing but the best for everyone. And yet it's exactly because Markus is himself, because his actions reflect his words, that Connor is allowed to stay.

"Your guilt is misplaced," Markus tells him, in accordance with his thoughts. "You're not bad, Connor. You're one of us," he assures, reaching out to grab Connor's hand. The touch is gentle and helps Connor ground himself enough to nod, not fully accepting the words but agreeing that he is here and he won't leave.

There's a sudden flurry of movement outside, which is why they're ready for Hank walking inside the chambers, looking like he just got out of bed. He probably did. "You're awake," he says, voice heavily laced with relief.

Sensitive to their circumstances, Markus lets go of Connor's hand and leaves the chambers, letting the door close behind him. Connor misses the warm comfort of his hand, but he can tell that Hank needs this and if he's honest with himself, he does, too.

Connor is still surprised when Hank sits on the edge of his bed and wraps his arms around him, pulling him into a careful hug. It's the first time someone holds him like this and Connor melts into it, his own arms snaking around Hank's neck. This is what comfort feels like, he finds out then. All of his wounds are lost to him as he rests his forehead on Hank's shoulder and shuts his eyes, feeling himself relax now that he's so close to someone he knows can be trusted completely.

"Markus says you saved me," Connor starts, breaking the long silence between them but making sure not to move away from Hank.

"What did you think I was going to do, let you die on me? You deserve better than that, son."

His chest grows tight at the words and he feels moisture on his cheeks, but he presses even closer to Hank despite the sting on his shoulders as he does it. "I was afraid you wanted me dead," he confesses, aware that Hank's shirt is now damp but Hank doesn't seem to mind.

"Come on, you know that's not true." Hank pulls away then and Connor wants to protest, but Hank looks like he wants to talk now so he doesn't. Before he continues, though, Hank rubs Connor's cheek, wiping the wetness there. "There you go. You're a sweet kid, Connor. You've got your whole life ahead of you and I know you're going to make the best of it. I've lost family before, I'm not going to let that happen again."

Family, there's that word again. It's different from Hank, it feels almost natural in a typical manner, and Connor offers him a wobbly smile. "Thanks," he replies, the word being a lot closer to what he feels than any other he can think of.

Hank understands, smiling back at him. "You hungry?" Connor hasn't even thought about food, but his stomach rumbles at the thought of it - and actual food, he hopes, not just rations. "Alright, I'll get us something decent. But don't think you're going to get away with eating whatever you want all the time, you're going to have to stay healthy," he warns as he stands from the bed, ruffling Connor's hair.

Connor looks like he thinks the idea is the most absurd he's ever heard, but Hank just laughs as he leaves.

*

Peace is a strange thing.

Connor can't say it's a widespread sort of peace, seeing as the Empire still has more systems under its influence than free from it, but being away from a battlefield? It's great.

Purpose is something difficult to find when one has all of their beliefs swept away, though help makes it a lot easier to deal with. Connor has more of that than he could dream to ask for.

When two days after Connor starts walking again Hank tells him it doesn't have to be anything big as long as it's something, Connor decides that his first purpose after the Empire is to eat.

Lothal has great many varieties when it comes to culinary, which he suspects will only grow as farmers whose lands were returned reap their harvests. Now that safety isn't as much of a concern, locals are going back to their own purposes, be it help Markus and the others with administrative tasks or open stores without worrying about taxes eating up all of their earnings. 

Hank introduces him to sushi, watches him eat more meilooruns than his stomach can fit, orders a droid to make him what might be the most delicious Jogan fruit cake in the galaxy, buys him riding ham which is where he decides to draw a line.

The day Connor wakes up to find that he's no longer sore, his purpose turns into learning about Lothal. The locals are happy to help, both due to pride and thankfulness for his part in putting an end to the Empire's presence in Lothal, Markus tells him as he's the one to join Connor for this.

While Connor thinks Markus must have better things to do, he doesn't question his judgement. Markus explains himself anyway - "I was born here and I feel attached to this planet. We've been using Lothal as a base for years, but we've never spent so much time in one place before" - and Connor is happy to take in all the information he can get.

He learns about Lothal's crisis and the population's cry for help, heard by the Empire. He learns that Markus likes art in all of its forms. He learns about edgehawks, nerfs, loth wolves, sabercats, and even gets the chance to pet a loth cat. He learns that there's a Jedi temple in Lothal, but that it's out of sight and Markus intends to keep it that way for the time being. He learns about Imperial mines and how the resources are now being extracted with more thought, not abused the way the Empire treated them, with no regard for the planet itself. He learns about the plans for New Jericho, not a ship this time but headquarters for a new, democratic government. 

He promises Markus that he'll vote for him and Markus smiles.

When lack of knowledge doesn't feel like as much of an issue as it used to, Connor is finally comfortable helping the group formerly known as the Jericho's crew. 

He feels like an outsider when Simon invites him to join them for drinks after work (_We have Corellian wine_, he says) and Connor agrees, remembering Hank telling him in the closest thing to a strict voice he can manage with Connor that he needs to socialize.

He feels like he knows them slightly better when a drunk Josh tells him about all the things they could have done to defeat the Empire without violence.

He feels like he might fit in with them when North gives a friendly punch to his shoulder and yells "I'll race you!" upon meeting Connor on his way to New Jericho early one morning. (He loses, and not on purpose.)

He feels like he belongs when he sits next to Markus and they chat about their tastes, they exchange ideas and Connor isn't afraid to speak up whether he disagrees or agrees, just like Markus listens to him eagerly.

Hank often says he's proud of him and Connor is beginning to feel proud of himself, too.

He learns about love over a courteous game of chess, picking up his tower for a checkmate when he feels a hand on top of his own, helping him move the piece. "You win," Markus says.

Connor lets go of the piece to hold Markus's hand and smiles. "No, I think we both win."


End file.
